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Chapter 1
Chapter 1 Prologue
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Year 1473 (human Callander)
Month 5 Day 19
Human Lands (Northern Kingdom)
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The day dawns as the sky brightens with the first specks of light. The day was as normal as any other, one as ordinary as any other, and one to be forgotten like the rest. The birds chirped and the winds howled, just as they did the day before. The sun joyfully peeked its head over the horizon with its blinding smile, just as it did the day before. Its light brightened, waiting for a response to its brilliance, just as the day before.
It waited, and it waited. Smiling down at the early risers with growing excitement, waiting for them to return the smile it so generously gives each day. It waited, and it waited, but the world never returned its ever-generous light and joyous smile. Antithetical to the days before, and incomparable to the past four eons, the sun paused in its ascent into the sky, its smile faltering. Clouds covered the sky for the first time in months.
The sun shined brighter as if to ward off the coming storm, but there was little point. This is no normal storm. With it, it brings a veil of darkness and despair. It brings winds of flame and frost. With it, it brings lightning so bleak even the abyss pales in fright, and thunder so deafening the earth trembles and crumbles in its wake. It brings a deluge of rain and a torrent of fire. With it, it brings a hail of ice and a salvo of fire. It brings a shower of earth and a downpour of magma. With it, it brings death, and with it, it brings despair.
Yes, this is no normal storm, and this day will not be forgotten
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Year 1473 (human Callander)
Month 5 Day 19
Human Lands (Shadow Kingdom)
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Farmer
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Stirring from slumber, I rub my tired eyes and soothe my aching back before sitting up on my rough cot. The cot is far too small for a man in his late forties, but it has been a difficult few months. The drought has taken its toll, and Lord Blackwood, the grand fool he is, demands more grain to support the war effort. With minimal water for the crops, the harvest will be too light to feed the town. Nevertheless, I need to get an early start on the fields and refill the feeding troughs in the barn.
I make my way out of my and my wife’s room towards the kitchen. Our house, while in better condition than most, still cannot compare to even the lowest of noble sheds. I have two sons of whom I couldn’t be more proud. My oldest, Oscar, just turned twenty-five this year, and Balder will be nineteen next fall. As I approach the kitchen, I stop and knock on the door to my left, Oscar and Balder's room, and wait for a response. It doesn't take long—about five minutes—before they come out. We all make our way out to the fields to get an early start on the day.
The sun peeks over the horizon, smiling down upon us with everlasting joy. I can’t help but smile at the sight. “By Thea, what is that?” Oscar exclaims, his voice filled with surprise and fear. “Oscar, you know better th—” I begin to chastise him for invoking the name of Thea, Titan god of sun and light, but stop and freeze in terror when I see it. A large pitch-black cloud floats on the horizon, invoking a primal fear in me. The clouds roll over the earth as they begin to rain a black fog of death, consuming the land in its abyss.
I finally get my bearings after staring into the approaching darkness for who knows how long. I turn to Balder to tell him to get back inside, to run and find shelter from this towering fog of death, to find his mother and hide. But then it happens. One second I am turning to yell at Balder, and the next, the sky flashes void black and the earth shakes in terror. I am thrown to the side by the crumbling ground, only to be bashed into a tree by an intense gust of wind. My mind goes blank, and by the time I wake, the wall of darkness is upon us.
I look around, shocked by the scene. Everything is destroyed. Fire rains from the sky and lava rises from the ground. The earth continues to crumble, and icy winds freeze anything unlucky enough to be in the open. I suddenly feel a burning sensation in my abdomen. I look down to see myself on fire. Panic floods me and instinct takes over. I dive to the side, ripping off the burning scrap that used to be my shirt, and bury it in the dirt. Standing up, I look for Oscar and Balder, only for everything to go dark. No light. No sound. Nothing but darkness surrounds me, and for a moment, I feel at peace.
Then the stabbing pain begins, radiating from my limbs. It feels like thousands of needles tearing into my flesh, slowly ripping away my sanity. I scream, hoping for help, crying for someone to save me, but no one comes. I'm alone in this abyss. I briefly wonder if Oscar and Balder are in the same situation, but the thought doesn't last long under a new wave of pain. My mind blanks as the pain overwhelms me, and my last thought is of my wife’s safety.
I wake with a start. The pain is worse now than ever—it feels as though my body is disintegrating, one part at a time. I have no idea how long I have been in this void; it could be seconds, hours, days, maybe even months. It feels as if an eternity has passed, but there is no way to tell. Suddenly, the pain stops. I open my eyes in surprise and am greeted with the sight of a devastated wasteland. There are mountains and hills where there were none before, lakes of lava, and rivers of flame. I look around for any sign of life, but there are none—just scarred earth, lakes of cooling lava, and the occasional patch of grass shining in the evening sunlight. But my attention is immediately diverted as I hear a soft chime in my head.
“Congratulations, you have earned the title: [Stormforged].”
What…
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Year 1473 (human Callander)
Month 5 Day 20
Human Lands (Shadow Kingdom)
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King (Shawn) Titus
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It has been eleven hours since the start of the void storm and one since it ended. I look out from my untouched castle at what remains of my once great kingdom. The capital, once a booming and prosperous city, now lies half in rubble, its once unbreakable protections shattered like a glass sword struck against a rune knight's shield.
Of course, the high noble district is relatively intact, and the royal castle is virtually untouched. The real cause for my concern, however, is the outer edge of the capital. The peasant and low noble districts were hit far harder than expected, to the point where the [Ward of Impenetrability] was irreparably destroyed. I let out a resigned sigh, knowing I will have to hire at least an [Advanced Mage] to recast it. Then again, it is just the lower district, and an [Advanced Mage] is costly—too much gold to spend on mere peasants.
But that matters not. What matters is the severe drop in grain production. With the storm destroying a vast amount of farmland, there will be a shortage for the war—a war I refuse to lose. I turn to the south, pondering what things would be like if the elves weren't so savage, so barbaric and uncivilized. I scowl, knowing there’s no point in wondering about impossibilities. Elves are the incarnation of madness. They are barbaric, uncivilized, and a plague that needs to be exterminated.
So if a few thousand peasants have to starve for the savages to die, so be it. After all, no one will care anyway—they are just peasants.
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Year 573,261 (Elven Callander)
Month 5 Day 20
Elven Lands (Lightning Tribe Outskirts)image
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Ancient One (Kane)
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Five hundred thousand years. It has been five hundred thousand years since I last witnessed a mana storm as powerful as the one days ago. I let out a small chuckle as I walked toward the command tent. Decades of anguish, centuries of torture, millennia of suffering—all for this moment. Many believe the story of the Elementals to be mere myth, a tale to frighten the young and foolish into behaving. But I know better. Elementals are real. They say during the peak of a mana storm, when mana and essence collide, an Elemental is born. Far north, in the land of light, at the peak of the Demonic Alps is the birthplace of Elementals, creatures born from the union of essences and magic, beings of pure magic. I should know, after all, I’ve spent many years and resources on cultivating and creating one.
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As I enter the command tent, I find the four great Elders standing around a rough stone table, likely transfigured with magic. The tent is far larger than the surrounding ones, its interior a dull green with hints of brown. Apart from the four occupants and the stone table, there's not much else of note. The table is three meters long and two meters wide, its top crested with the symbols of the four main tribes. Satisfied with my brief scan of the room, I move to take my place at the head of the table. The Elders bow, their respect—or perhaps fear—evident.
“We greet the [Ancient One],” Elder Tide says, his voice trembling. I sit and take note of everyone's positions. The [Fire Elder] Ember and [Air Elder] Zephyr are to my right, while the [Water Elder] Tide and [Earth Elder] Coal are to my left.
“At ease, continue as you were,” I say with a sigh.
“Thank you, [Ancient One],” Zephyr says, his passion evident. “As I was saying before the [Ancient One] arrived, the human invasion is progressing at a worrying rate. We need to bolster the front lines. I will be sending 300 strong to reinforce the left and central fronts, and I’d like the rest of you to do the same.”
“Wha—” Elder Tide begins to protest but is cut off by Elder Coal.
“Are you insane, Elder Zephyr? We barely have enough manpower as it is, and you want to send more to that slaughterhouse.”
“Hmm,” I interject, “What of the Light, Dark, and Arcane tribes? Should they not be here?” I ask with feigned suspicion, already knowing the answer. Predictably, the tent falls silent. The Light and Dark tribes have long abandoned the others and aren't even on the same continent anymore. The Arcane tribe is far too arrogant to help fight the “weak flesh bags.”
“[Ancient One], please forgive me, but we haven't had contact with the Light and Dark tribes for centuries. And the Arcane tribe, well…” Elder Ember starts.
“What he means,” Elder Zephyr finishes, “is the Arcane tribe believes we are more than enough to handle the human invasion. And I, for one, agree with them. We don't need their help.”
I smirk. Gotcha. “Well then, since you all seem to have everything under control, I will take my leave. Good day, Elders.” With that, I stand and exit without looking back.
As I walk, I can't help but think, I’ve succeeded this time. This has been the most powerful mana storm in the past five hundred thousand years. I poured my everything into it this time, all my essence infused with the storm. There's no way an Elemental wasn't born. Now all that's left is to wait—wait until they bloom, wait until they are unchallengeable, wait until they seek me out. Because they will. It is in their nature, after all. And once they do, I will have fulfilled my promise. Finally, millennia of trying, millennia of pain, millennia of suffering—all for this. Many think the Elementals are a myth. But I know better. After all, I'm contracted to one.
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4th era, CY-523 (Elemental Callander)
Month 5 Day 21
Demonic Alps (Elementous Outskirts)
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Ylva
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I stare out of my window, looking at the black void that consumes the sky, and shudder. A seedling will be born today, though I fear for its safety. Adult Elementals are immune to the effects of mana storms, but a seedling would be helpless in this mess. This storm is not only unusual but also of the void element. The essence of the storm is worryingly strong, and the elders claim it’s a bad omen. I don't believe them.
The storm rages as mana condenses, and the heavy essence in the air starts to swirl and whip around. Astonishment grips me as I realize the seedling is about to take form right outside my house. The mana begins to solidify and compress into a core. The spherical ball of mana floats for a moment before a bolt of black lightning strikes it, cracking the core. I gasp in shock, my heart sinking in despair. A strike to the core is fatal for any elemental. I shed a tear for the unborn seedling, but the storm seems to disagree with my assessment.
The ethereal whirling essence rushes to clot the wounded core, simultaneously congealing and thickening into a humanoid shape. I pause, thinking maybe it’s not over yet. Lightning strikes the seedling three more times before the storm ends, and thrice more the swirling essence repairs it. After five long hours, the seedling is fully formed. I stare down at the newborn elemental from my window before rushing to bring it inside, fearing it could be struck once more.
The repairing essence has all been absorbed by the seedling’s core, leaving it with no protection from the extreme weather. I wished to move the seedling earlier, but moving it could have proved fatal until it was fully formed. With the seedling now safe from the storm, I take a moment to [Appraise] it.
Name: [Aria]
Gender: Female
Race: [True Elemental lvl:1]
Race skills:[?]
Class: [N/A]
Health: ?/?
MP: ?/?
Strength: 130
Dexterity: 150
Intelligence: 130
Wisdom: 140
Vitality: 120
Titles:
[Stormforged], [Elemental Sovereign(restricted)]
Well…WTF.
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Year 1473 (Human Calendar)
Month 5, Day 21
Human Lands (Northern Kingdom)
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The morning sun struggled to penetrate the thick clouds that lingered, as if nature itself was hesitant to reveal the devastation that had occurred. The aftermath of the storm was nothing short of catastrophic. Trees that had stood tall for centuries now lay uprooted, and the once fertile fields were scorched beyond recognition. The air was thick with ash and the pungent scent of burning wood, a stark reminder of the previous day's events.
In the small village of Brookshire, the inhabitants slowly emerged from their homes, their expressions a mix of disbelief and sorrow. The village elder, a frail man with a kind but weathered face, hobbled towards the town square, where a small group of villagers had gathered. His old bones creaked with every step, but he pushed forward, determined to assess the damage and provide some semblance of guidance to his people.
"We've been blessed to survive the storm," Elder Hargrove said, his voice raspy from years of shouting over the roaring winds that frequently swept through the valley. "But the land... it will take years to recover, if it ever does."
A murmur of agreement spread through the crowd, but their faces remained downcast. The village had endured many hardships, but none had been as destructive as this. Crops were ruined, livestock lost, and several homes had been reduced to smoldering rubble. Rebuilding would be a daunting task, especially with winter fast approaching.
From the back of the crowd, a young man with piercing blue eyes and a mop of unruly black hair stepped forward. His clothes were singed, and a fresh scar ran along his forearm, a souvenir from trying to save his family's barn from the flames. "Elder, what about the storm? Do we know what caused it?"
Elder Hargrove sighed, his gaze drifting towards the distant mountains. "The storm was no natural occurrence, Tobias. The gods have sent us a warning, or perhaps a curse. I cannot say for certain, but one thing is clear—this was not the work of men."
Tobias clenched his fists, frustration bubbling within him. "We can't just sit here and do nothing. If this happens again, we might not be so lucky."
"You're right, my boy," the elder replied, placing a reassuring hand on Tobias's shoulder. "But we must be cautious. We know not what forces we are dealing with. For now, we must focus on survival and rebuilding what we can. We’ll send word to the capital and seek guidance from the King. Perhaps he has answers that we do not."
As the villagers began to disperse, Tobias lingered for a moment, staring at the horizon. The storm had left more than just physical scars; it had ignited a spark of curiosity and fear within him. He had always believed the world to be a place of order and predictability, but now, that belief had been shattered. There was something out there, something powerful and unknown, and he intended to find out what it was.
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Year 1473 (Human Calendar)
Month 5, Day 21
Human Lands (Shadow Kingdom)
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The once bustling city of Grimhaven now lay in ruins. The storm had torn through the kingdom, leaving nothing but chaos in its wake. The sky was still dark, as if mourning the loss of the city’s grandeur. Lord Blackwood stood on the balcony of his keep, his face expressionless as he surveyed the destruction below. His heart was as cold as the stone walls that surrounded him, but even he could not deny the unease that gnawed at his insides.
The storm had been more than a mere force of nature. It had been a harbinger of something far worse, and Blackwood knew it. He had felt the power in the air, the unnatural energy that crackled like a live wire. The storm had come from the north, from lands untouched by man for centuries. Rumors had spread quickly through the kingdom—whispers of ancient magic, of Elementals and forgotten gods. But Blackwood had no time for such superstitions. His concerns were more immediate, more practical.
"My lord," a voice called from behind him, interrupting his thoughts. He turned to see his steward, a thin, nervous man named Alden, bowing deeply. "The council is ready to convene."
Blackwood nodded, his eyes narrowing as he turned back to the ruined city. "Very well. Let us see what they have to say."
The council chamber was dimly lit, the flickering torches casting long shadows across the room. The nobles had already gathered, their faces a mix of fear and determination. They knew that the storm was only the beginning, that something far worse was on the horizon. Blackwood took his seat at the head of the table, his steely gaze sweeping across the room.
"We are at war," Blackwood began, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "Not with men, but with forces beyond our comprehension. The storm that ravaged our kingdom was no accident. It was a warning, a challenge. We must be prepared to face whatever comes next."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the council, but there was also a palpable tension in the air. These were men who had fought in wars, who had faced death on the battlefield. But this was different. This was a threat that they could not see, could not understand.
"We have received reports from the northern villages," Alden said, stepping forward. "The storm was felt across the entire kingdom. Crops have been destroyed, homes obliterated. The people are scared, my lord. They are looking to us for guidance."
"Then we must give them something to believe in," Blackwood replied, his voice cold and unwavering. "Send word to the capital. We need reinforcements, supplies, whatever they can spare. And double the patrols along the northern borders. If there is something out there, I want to know about it."
The council members nodded, their expressions grim. They knew the task ahead of them would not be easy. But they also knew that failure was not an option. The storm had changed everything, and now, they were on the brink of a war unlike any they had ever known.
As the council adjourned, Blackwood remained seated, his mind racing. The storm had been a warning, yes, but it had also been an opportunity. The Elementals, if they truly existed, were beings of immense power. Power that could be harnessed, controlled. And if anyone was going to do it, it would be him.
But first, he needed to find them.
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Year 573,261 (Elven Calendar)
Month 5, Day 21
Elven Lands (Lightning Tribe Outskirts)
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The storm had passed, but the air was still thick with the scent of ozone and the lingering hum of mana. Kane stood at the edge of the cliff, his eyes fixed on the horizon. The Elemental had been born, of that he was certain. He could feel its presence, a new and raw power that pulsed with life. But the question remained—where was it?
He had waited for this moment for centuries, carefully orchestrating the conditions that would give birth to a true Elemental. And now that it was here, he could not afford to lose it. He turned away from the cliff, his mind already racing with plans. The Elders would not understand; they were too focused on the immediate threat of the human invasion. But Kane knew better. The Elemental was the key, the weapon that would turn the tide of the war.
He had to find it before anyone else did.
With a determined stride, Kane made his way back to the encampment. The Elders were still in session, debating strategies and troop movements, but Kane had no time for such trivial matters. He passed through the camp, ignoring the curious glances from the soldiers and the whispered rumors that followed him. They all feared him, but they also respected him. He was the [Ancient One], after all, and his word was law.
As he approached the command tent, a sudden gust of wind ruffled his cloak, and he paused, sensing something in the air. A presence, faint but unmistakable, like a distant echo of power. His eyes narrowed, and a slow smile spread across his face.
"Found you," he whispered to the wind.
Without another word, Kane turned on his heel and headed back toward his personal lodging. The Elemental was out there, somewhere in the mountains, waiting to be found. It is only a matter of time now before the world is changed forever.
For better or for worse.